


so this was done

by kinpika



Series: signed, sealed, delivered [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: "So should we talk about that kiss?" "No.", F/M, Gift Giving, Post-Break Up, Reconciling Feelings, Wand ceremony for Charlie, just kiss and make up already - bill probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 07:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: At Bill's insistence, she was going to their house for Christmas. And there were several things, below the surface. Memories of summer, still at the forefront of both their minds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Natasha had lost count of the number of times Charlie had begun to look at her like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In their seventh year, Christmas and feelings and presents and trying to work out what they really are.

Something had to be said, to find Charlie sitting at the bank of the Black Lake mere hours before they were supposed to set off for Christmas visits.

Normally, as Natasha had become quite accustomed to, she’d find him outside Care of Magical Creatures, making sure everything was good before leaving. Some effort would have to be exerted to drag him away, to make sure he had packed. Natasha would kick his ass into the Gryffindor common room, and that would be the end of that. 

Except Bill had extended the invitation to spend Christmas with the Weasleys. Not the first one, of course. Natasha spent some time over summer with them, as well as a Christmas or two before. This time it was different though, because she’d broken a few of her own rules, and now? She could only find Charlie, lobbing cereal into the Lake, and found _herself_ hesitating.

Hard to return to a previously normal interaction, when they’d spent too much time in each other’s orbits. When she’d seen every spattering of freckle and scar, and he’d seen the same for her. Natasha wavered, one foot not quite setting down in front of the other, when she watched him sigh. Suck it up, Rhodes, she tells herself. Worry about it later.

“Hey, Charlie!” her mouth moves before her brain catches up, and she’s waving at him as she finally walks closer.

There was slack in him, as Charlie frowned at first, before going wide-eyed. A little flush on his cheeks, when Natasha comes to a halt beside him. “Natasha, hey, what’re you doing here?” Doesn’t quite meet her eye, which honestly deflates Natasha more than it should. She knew it would be like this, _still_ , even after all these months. After all, they hadn’t had ‘the talk’ (as everyone kept delicately putting it).

Natasha doesn’t focus on that, doesn’t focus on the pink tips of his ears. “Looking for you, of course. I followed the trail of cereal and this is where it lead me.” Even she had to admit that was a poor attempt at humour, but it had him smile softly. Corners of his lips lifting, at least.

Charlie finally looks at her, and Natasha is the one who has to stop herself from blushing. His hair was growing out again, and she remembered the last time Mrs Weasley had staged an intervention with a certain amount of fondness. Whilst Charlie had promised that the moment he was seventeen, she couldn’t stop him from growing his hair out, he’d still sulked when it was cut. Summer. What a time that had been.

“Nearly ready?” Natasha needed to fill the space. Find something to stop herself from crouching down, from grabbing his collar, from—

“Yeah. Sorry, just caught up with some stuff.” And yet he still doesn’t rise from where he sat. Charlie didn’t even make an attempt to do more than sigh again, wand twirling in his hand. A light amount of sparks were produced, and it wasn’t the first time Natasha had frowned at the way his wand seemed a little lacking in functionality. She remembered the first time she’d tried to even perform a basic charm, and nearly blew up a teacup. Charlie had thrown his arm back so badly when flicking her own wand, he damn near dislocated his shoulder.

From the way he kept finding that one little dent, low on the handle, Natasha knew what he was pausing on. “Thinking about what your parents were saying?” An argument had stemmed, something about money, wands, books. The younger boy, Ron, was supposed to start not long after they graduated, and there was something being said about buying his supplies. Whilst Charlie had been dragged into it, as had Bill, Natasha ultimately excused herself to give the family some privacy. A touchy issue for both Bill and Charlie, she had noticed over the years. 

Perhaps? No, that wouldn’t. She couldn’t. But Natasha only continued to stare, as Charlie’s wand continued to play up. Formerly his Uncle Fabian’s, while Bill had the accompanying wand that belonged to Gideon. _She_ _could_. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d lingered on, perhaps, putting some money towards a new wand for him. Granted, that had been over the summer, and, well.

“That, and some other things.” But whatever Charlie was lingering on, he only shook his head, and finally made a move to stand. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s get going, yeah? Tonks is joining us or something?”

Natasha holds out a hand, which Charlie takes. She had almost forgotten how heavy he was, as she pulled him to his feet. “I don’t know. Last I saw her, she was all blue, and said something about her mum and dad.”

“Hope it’s nothing serious.”

Humming out her agreement, Natasha settled for walking side by side with Charlie, back towards the castle. Whilst it had taken less time than she had planned for, now she had plenty of empty space to fill. Never mind the ride back on the train as well. Plenty of other students were going to spend the holiday at Hogwarts, for one last time. Likely, it would be a lonely ride back, being some of the few seventh years, surrounded by those lower than them.

She doesn’t mean to chew her thumbnail out of nerves, but she can’t help it. Not with how Charlie tucks his hands in his pockets, puffing out air slowly, letting mist form in front of his eyes. Maybe if it wasn’t so awkward, Natasha would make the same comment she always did over winter. But no, she just continues to kick stones as she walks, arms crossed over her chest — completely unsure of what to even think about, even.

Too focused on the path ahead, Natasha damn near jumps out of her skin when Charlie finally speaks. “So… what are you hoping for?” A simple question, for sure, had it not taken Natasha completely by surprise. Many differing answers came to the forefront of her mind, some getting a little too personal, and others probably a little too forward. “For Christmas, I mean,” hastily he adds on, blushing a little just again. Oh. Of course.

“Haven’t thought about it, really.” That was the honest truth. “Maybe new books, or a dress. You?”

They were getting close to the courtyard now. Other students were milling about in the snow, some already bringing bags out and getting ready to leave. Charlie doesn’t answer, only gives a half shrug that lets Natasha think back to what she could do. 

When they reach the top, Charlie finally turns to face her. Not quite meeting her eye, but no longer red in the face. “Meet you in a little while? I packed early today.”

There was nothing more to say but “okay”, and they separate, heading in different directions to their common rooms. Natasha used the walk to settle herself once more, to try to stop wringing her hands. 

Except it didn’t stop her from turning around, as if trying to see Charlie, despite him being long gone.

By the time it was the last call to get onto the train, Natasha had almost forgotten the twisting of her gut. Almost. Something to still be said, when she finds a compartment and practically throws herself in it. Kicks her feet up and covers her eyes. Tonks would be joining them back to London, but they wouldn’t see her until Christmas Day, from the way things were looking. Possibly not even then. 

Rowan had opted to stay behind, as had Tulip. Natasha hadn’t seen much of Ben, nor Barnaby, to know what their exact plans were. Neither had she seen Andre, but that was something to be said, because she had heard he’d received expressions of interest from varying Quidditch clubs the last few weeks. And Penny was simply Penny, evasive and difficult to pin down when Natasha could’ve just used a hug.

But no. She could only take her arms away from her face, when the door to her compartment opens. “Mind if I join you?” Charlie stands at the threshold, just as unsure of himself as she was. 

Natasha wanted to say ‘no’. That spending a holiday, or even the mere thought of it, was having her flip-flopping all over the place. Even if Bill had asked her, almost outright begged her (going so far as to send a howler, damn him), Natasha just couldn’t help the way she felt. If there was a permanent way to murder the butterflies in her stomach, she would’ve done it already. 

So she just opts to nod her head towards the empty chair, before returning to hiding her face. A few hours sleep would do her some good, surely. If she just closed her eyes, and let the rocking of the train soothe her, Natasha was certain she would get some rest — even if she was acutely aware of every little movement Charlie made. Had it not been him throwing his jacket somewhere, or the clicking of the buckles on his bag, nor even the sigh before he settles into the seats, Natasha may have fallen asleep earlier.

When she wakes, curled up and facing the opposite seat, the sun had set and Charlie was nowhere to be seen. Natasha squeezes her eyes shut once, before opening once more, aware of the unfamiliar weight on her. Craning her neck, she notes, but doesn’t quite process, Charlie’s jacket lain over her. Incredibly warm, and they could attest that to experimenting on it over the course of several years. A number of charms had been sewn into the jacket, varying strengths and reliabilities, but Natasha was keenly aware of the warmth it kept. 

That was her handiwork, after all. Done after a number of times Charlie had thrown it to the side and worked out in the snow of the grounds, only to be shivering the entire way back to the castle. A lot of arguing and grumbling had happened before she got her hands on his jacket, and Natasha could only curl the material around in her fingers, hold it close. Strange, how things worked. 

Outside the compartment, other students had begun to move, some getting a little too excited. If Natasha had half a mind to deal with it, she might’ve gotten up to bark about how they weren’t home _yet_. Instead, she just watched, until a familiar head of red stopped before the door. Several other people (notably, girls) were with Charlie, voices barely making it through the glass. They were talking about the last Quidditch match. Or the next, even. She didn’t care, of course not. Until they determined what they had, will have, or don’t, Charlie was as free to see someone as she was.

Except it didn’t stop her from sitting up when Charlie finally opened the door. “Oh, Natasha, you’re up.”

Something on his face looked remarkably uncomfortable, at how the faces peered around him. Varying degrees of realisation, coupled with a certain amount of annoyance, were aimed at Natasha. She almost pitied the Gryffindor girls (almost). “Yeah, thanks for your jacket. Didn’t realise how cold it was going to get.”

That sets several lightbulbs off over their heads, Natasha could see it. Varying degrees of distaste filled their faces, and she struggled to hide a grin. Charlie gave her a look, perhaps it was disapproval, before turning to the girls who were nearly falling over each other to get it. “We’re nearly at the station. You should return to your seats.” Finality, coupled with shutting the door in their faces.

Natasha will admit it took them a bit of time to take the hint, and she waves as they finally walk away. Nosy bloody Gryffindors. They must have been fifth years, at the very least, judging by how they seemed to skip after Charlie every other day. For one whole moment, Natasha remembered the more embarrassing parts of her fifth year in that regard too, and almost forgave them. Almost.

Charlie doesn’t sit down straight away, but he turns at least. Something on his face tells Natasha that she may not like the next line of questioning he was about to hand her way, but the whistle goes. His jaw clicks shut audibly, brows furrow, arms cross. Every bit a worry. 

“Something on your mind?” One of her poking, prodding questions. Needed every so often, to get him out of his own spiralling thoughts. Whilst Charlie wasn’t one to admit that he often got lost, Natasha knew that it was easy for him to lose a few minutes with ease.

Yet, he chews over a response for too long. As the train pulls into the station, Natasha takes the moment to grab her things, but still keep the jacket close. Not that Charlie was asking for it back, clearly just as baffled by Natasha clutching it around her. She wasn’t quite sure what possessed her to do so, and followed him out, trying not to think about it too hard. 

Made worse only when he took her bag from her, and held a hand out as they stepped off the train. Natasha only had a moment to pause, until a line formed behind her. Strange, the way sparks seemed to fly when their hands touched, when Charlie led them through the growing crowd, a firm yet gentle hand sitting at the small of her back to guide her. How quaint, to think that he couldn’t so much as look at her these days, yet here he was, practically having her weak at the knees, just by being _him_.

Natasha almost comments, but what comes out of her mouth instead is, “are your brothers joining us?” She hadn’t spotted another redhead the entire train ride, and from Charlie’s grimace, she almost assumed the worst. 

“Fred and George are this year, but Percy decided to stay. Needed to ‘catch up on some reading’.” Despite the tight response, Charlie does a poor imitation of Percy, enough to have her laugh. But she thinks back to the twins, and couldn’t recall seeing them at all. Natasha wants to press, but they keep walking on, away from the train, weaving through the crowds, with Charlie leading the entire time.

Charlie doesn’t step away until they near the just as familiar shocks of red hair. Casually, leaning off to the side, was Bill, looking remarkably out of place amongst the well dressed individuals who had come to greet their children in time for Christmas. But that didn’t stop him from earning more than one appreciative look, nor from greeting a few Gryffindors by name. Beside him, Mr Weasley stood, arms behind his back, nodding to a few passing parents, shaking hands with the odd fellow.

She could say what she wanted about Bill, but the hug he gave her was familiar and safe, and definitely something Natasha needed. A tight squeeze, filled with an outpouring of something she couldn’t quite name. Natasha missed him, intently. Dealing with school and the occasional bout of curse breaking just wasn’t the same without Bill Weasley by her side.

With a pat to his cheek, they finally separate. “Missed you,” she admits, honestly and quietly, to receive the same in kind.

“Missed you, too. Definitely ready to take you through tombs next year.”

There was some comfort in that, despite Natasha’s vocal beliefs of taking it one step at a time. Madam Rakepick had already spoken vocally for her, or so she had been told. Apparently there were even a few letters of recommendation already sent to both Ministry and Gringotts, from what Bill had told her earlier in the year. Something to be said, surely, despite her mother’s best efforts to leave pamphlets out for MACUSA every other day. 

“Mr Weasley,” Natasha turns to greet him, too, with a easy smile at the way he beams at her. 

“Natasha, good to see you! Bill wouldn’t stop talking about how glad he was you were visiting this year.”

As Bill goes scarlet, Natasha couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen that happen. But Bill clears his throat, sidestepping any further questions with a, “Dad, we’re gonna head off. Meet you at home.”

Without any hesitation, Bill loops his arm through Natasha’s, and guides her away just as Fred and George arrive. The pink hadn’t quite settled from his cheeks, and he was clearly embarrassed by such a comment. “Stop staring,” he mutters, when he finally notices Natasha’s gaze.

Natasha laughs, one of her first genuine laughs in a while (she missed him, so much, she realises). “I’m going to remember that for a very long time, you know that?” 

Bill doesn’t respond, only continues to grumble about his father embarrassing him. Charlie lags behind, as Natasha and Bill walk ahead, arm in arm. She’s hyper aware, of course, but can’t help it really. Not when she’s spilled every damn tear on Bill’s shoulder over his ‘thick-headed brother’, a statement he said once again in their most recent letter when Natasha had scribbled out about their most recent fight. Never mind that Bill was acutely aware of Natasha’s infatuation early on, teasing her to no end all the way through to her fifth year. 

A little further out the way of the foot traffic, Natasha lets go. Apparition was the form of transport this time around, to Charlie’s lack of amusement. Bill goes so far to even extend an arm to his brother, grinning from ear to ear. “You haven’t passed _yet_ , remember. Grab on.”

Something was mumbled, about where Bill could stick his Apparition, but he took the arm with a look of mild disgust. If she hadn’t felt so awkward, Natasha might’ve felt a need to comment. But she nodded at Bill, and thought only of the Burrow. 

Not how her stomach turned inside out, not even until she had found the safety of solid ground once more. Even if it seemed to sink a little too well under her boots. Eyes squeezed shut tightly, Natasha doesn’t try to take a step forward, nor move her arms out to regain balance. She just wanted to be sick.

Someone grabs her elbow, and she won’t lie in saying that it balanced her, just a little. “You right?” is the rough question, somewhere near her right ear, and she nods stiffly.

“Just give me a minute.” Natasha knows it was Charlie, as he still didn’t let go. Centred her, as his hand moves to rub light circles in the middle of her back. Cracking an eye open, she notes the clenching of Charlie’s jaw, and how Bill even seemed to hover over them, bordering on worry. “Fucking Apparition.”

Bill snorts, and leads them on. “Mum’s probably having kittens by now.” A testament to how particular Mrs Weasley was, Natasha took that comment with consideration, and followed on. Charlie didn’t step away from her, continuing to keep his hand in the middle of her back. Natasha was feeling too sick to focus on how that action could’ve spiralled her thoughts even more, and only settled for side-eyeing him the entire way in.

At the door, before any of them got to turn the handle, it was thrown open. Two very excited faces appeared, and Natasha stepped aside to let Charlie and Bill swoop in on their youngest siblings. Charlie all but throws Ginny into the air, hugging her tightly as she balled tiny fists in the back of his jumper, while Bill seems more than content to hold Ron and mess up his hair. 

It didn’t hurt so much, anymore, seeing them behave in such a way. Whilst it had always stung, when she was younger, hunting Jacob, Natasha had come to terms that their relationship had never quite been the way she’d idolised it to be. In turn, perhaps, it helped her to finally take the extended hands her cousins had offered her way, after so many years. Now, she knew she could watch them all, and just smile.

“Let them in! Ron, Ginny, out the way—!”

Mrs Weasley beamed as they finally managed to make it through the door. So open and kind, she pulls Natasha into a tight hug before her own sons, hands immediately going to rest on Natasha’s cheeks. A frown forms, and there wasn’t much warning before Mrs Weasley seemed to decide it was time to ‘mother’ Natasha. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days, dear. Sit, sit! Arthur will be home soon, but we can get you something small for now.”

Bill rolls his eyes at Natasha, and nudges her as Charlie pipes up with a “hey, mum, how are you? Haven’t seen you since July.”

“Charlie, shush. You write so many letters, it’s like you’ve never left. Poor Errol struggles to keep up.”

With that, Charlie goes a particularly dark shade of scarlet, and shuts up, falling into a seat opposite Natasha. Ginny and Ron join them, both talking a mile a minute, Bill managing to get words in whenever one of them realises they need to breathe. For her effort, Natasha tries to answer as many questions as she can, particularly noting the way she was deemed ‘the only nice Slytherin’ by Ron, only for Ginny to argue that _anyone_ could be nice.

Raising a brow at both Bill and Charlie, she does get them offering a look of guilt. “I don’t want to know what you’ve told them, honestly,” she says, especially when Ron asks about if it was true that there were no lights in the dungeons, and slime on the walls.

“No, but our common room sits under the surface of the lake. Sometimes the giant squid goes by.”

That only serves for more furious questioning, stopped only as Mrs Weasley dolls out what Natasha assumes they consider a ‘light’ dinner. Perhaps far too many potatoes were placed on her plate, and she would never be more thankful to have Bill by her side, as he continues to sneak them from her whenever Mrs Weasley turned her back. Natasha’s sides hurt, that much she knew, and when Mr Weasley finally arrives, the opportunity to escape the dinner table became apparent. 

It’s Bill who stands up, speaks up, pulling Natasha from her chair, announcing that they were going out into the garden for a bit. A pointed look at Charlie, who also excuses himself, before turning to look at the youngest two. With a grin on his face, Bill announces that neither Ron, nor Ginny, were allowed to follow, and the three of them rush outside before anything could be said. 

Once far enough from the house, Bill stretches out his arms, embracing the cold with ease. For her effort, Natasha finds herself clutching her jacket to herself, and Charlie sits on an all too familiar log, pushed aside. This was a scene well known to her, where she and Bill may have duelled, or danced, or talked, and Charlie sat aside, piping up whenever he felt necessary. Never quite injecting himself, but not at all sitting apart. 

“Excited to be finished soon?” Bill asks, breaking the silence that was growing a bit too comfortable. Whether it was directed at her or not, Natasha couldn’t decide, but she blows on her fingers before responding. Gives herself more time to think.

“Can’t wait for the end of Divination, if that’s what you’re referring to.” That earns her a laugh from Charlie, one of the first genuine ones in a long time.

“Still don’t understand why you took it.”

“I promised my great-great-grandmother, bless her soul, that I would do it. If only to remind batty old Trelawney that seers other than her family exist.” Part of the whole truth. Whilst she had promised to continue the subject, and familial obligation had formed a stranglehold, it was also to explore the other possibility. The real one.

But still not one she was quite comfortable opening up, like it would open up a long line of questioning and concern. “How about you, Charlie?”

Seemingly dragged out of thought, Charlie blinks and slowly answers, with a bit more careless thought than he might’ve intended. “I don’t know if I want to finish, honestly. A few more positions opened up in that dragon sanctuary I talked to you about,” with that, he nods at Bill, “and Newt Scamander sent a letter of recommendation. About me.”

She didn’t mean to strain on her reply, but the admission of not wanting to finish school had caught her off guard. “Charlie, that’s wonderful!” And it was. Whilst plenty of people who knew Charlie, ultimately knew that he would sway on a future career, be it Quidditch or creatures, didn’t quite realise how serious he was about the latter. Natasha knew that there would’ve been countless letters likely pouring in from professors and magizoologists who had visited Hogwarts over the years, and plenty more to follow. But she’d never heard him say he was ready to leave, already.

It left her feeling… _well_. She didn’t know exactly what this emotion was called.

“Mum would never let you drop out, don’t be an idiot. You’ll be fifty by the time she’d let you graduate if you tell her that.” Bill spoke as if he had known of Charlie’s greater plan, and perhaps he did. Yet he didn’t try to dissuade Charlie completely, which just told Natasha more than she realised. “Just get a few N.E.W.T.s under your belt, and fly off to Romania. Never seeing any of us again. It’s fine.” 

And he sniffs, as if it was a painful future involved, which left Charlie trying not to smile, and kicking his leg out in an attempt to catch Bill off guard. “Sod off.”

“Wouldn’t have picked you to be an empty nester, Bill,” Natasha laughs, when Bill places a hand over his heart. “Although that explains a lot.”

Bill calls her something he wouldn’t have dared to in front of his mother, which has Natasha trying to push him over this time, laughing as she did so. Begging him to say it again, to which Bill profusely refuses to, Natasha was so caught up she almost missed the way Charlie remained ever quiet. It’s only when she’d turned around again, facing him now, that she was faced with that strange expression he’d been wearing since earlier in the day. Or, had been wearing for a long, _long_ time, and she’d just never seen it.

Until now, where it was like Charlie was looking at her for the first time again. Knocked off a few lens, and saw nothing else but the flushed cheeks from laughing too hard, the bright eyes, and the pink nose. Messed hair and tousled clothes from chasing Bill around the tree. Natasha had lost count of the number of times Charlie had begun to look at her like this. Made her want to hide out of sheer anxiety, because she couldn’t deconstruct that look. Not again. Was becoming harder to, each and every time. 

Natasha realises she was staying still for too long, when Mrs Weasley yells over the yard for Bill. And he obliges with some amount of satisfaction, if the wink he sent Natasha’s way said anything, before sauntering off in the direction of the house. Clearly, he’d seen something too, and wisely decided to get away before it didn’t go as planned. She was at a loss, really, not sure what to do with her hands, feet, hair. Settles for piling it on top of her head, before shoving her hands in her pockets, and hopping from foot to foot. Looking anywhere but at Charlie, who hasn’t quite moved much from his spot on the log. 

“We can go back in, if you want. Warmer inside.”

Shaking her head, Natasha opts to just sit beside him, with a respectable amount of distance between them. “No, not yet.”

Charlie was sturdy, centred. Hands, already calloused and scarred, were warm against her cheeks, as he cupped her face gently. Very much like the first time they had kissed, with how his eyes just never seemed to linger for too long, finding another spot to stare at, before moving on once more. Except, over the summer, she had been sitting in the tyre hanging from the tree, and he’d tipped her backwards, catching her off guard. Fuzzy and romantic, that time had been. This was different. 

A culmination of months of getting so close, only to pull apart again. Natasha wasn’t quite sure what they had even argued over anyway, what had been so important to rip apart the tiny threads holding them together. When Charlie finally presses his lips against hers — chapped and rough, uncertain — Natasha thought of nothing but the way her fists balled into the front of his jumper, holding him close. She’d worry about that later. Much later. Another time, when Charlie hadn’t tilted his head _just_ so, deepening the kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hesitation is clear, as he hands his wand over. Like he doesn’t quite want to let it go, but relinquishes it eventually._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to give Charlie a wand in some way, especially since he technically loses it to Ron in the same year. So...... wand ceremony

“Are we going to talk about what happened?”

“What do you mean talk about ‘what happened’?” she asks, a little too snappy to play nice at the moment. It was snowing terribly as they made their way through Diagon Alley, let alone the number of people running about for the last dash of shopping before returning to Hogwarts, or otherwise.

“The… _kiss_.”

Now, that does stop Natasha in her tracks. If only, because she was trying incredibly hard not to focus on how they had, despite everything telling her otherwise, kissed again. And again. And again. Had they not been interrupted, Natasha wasn’t sure what might’ve happened after that, and she wasn’t willing to linger on it. Considering he’d been the one to initiate it, which was a step in a direction Natasha couldn’t quite work out, said something else, too. But whilst that got her all jittery and nervous, she refused to let her mind wander to the possibilities. 

Especially not when she had dragged Charlie out, with enough excuses thrown at him, he’d only agreed with minor complaining. Although the shove in the back from Bill might’ve helped him along, too.

“What about it?”

They’re not that far from Ollivanders now. Natasha wanted to just go in, get him a wand, and get out. No dancing around what it means, no having to explain her feelings, especially not nearly seven years worth of them. Definitely not, when she’s having to look up at Charlie now, and watch his blue eyes get a little watery, how the corners of his mouth turn down, and how he avoids her eye.

“Well…” Charlie pauses, clearly not sure what words are supposed to come out first. So, he settles for throwing his hands in the air. “I’m confused, Natasha!”

Natasha rolls her eyes, and can feel the mask slipping back into place. How it fills her voice with a certain detachment that she knew they both loathed. “We kissed. We’ve done it enough times already — and _more_ —, I thought you would know what that is by now.” 

“That’s not the point! We spend all summer… together. _Together_ together,” there’s a flash of heat over his cheeks, suggesting Charlie remembered _exactly_ how they spent the summer, “and we get back to school and you just. Disappeared. You blocked me out, after everything, and I don’t know what you _want_.” Stresses the last word, as if he didn’t know what he wanted either. And that was the issue, wasn’t it?

Natasha can’t help the twinge of confusion that hits her despite what he tells her, when the words start falling from Charlie, too fast for him to bottle it up again. But also, that he was under the impression that she blocked him out. “You’re the one who went all ‘we’re Gryffindor and Slytherin’ on _me_!” A bad impersonation of him, to be sure, but it got the point across from the way he went wide-eyed. “And then you make out with me in the change rooms, only to give me the cold shoulder the rest of the week!”

“Your mates up in Slytherin damn near cursed my arm off—!”

“—You told _Barnaby_ about us, and he saw me crying, what do you think—?!”

“—You were crying?!”

They get a few stares, from those who happened to walk a little too closely. Natasha directs a glare towards one particularly nosy student, who she recognised from the year below. Once they scurried off, Natasha sighs, runs her hands over her hair, stares at her gloves. “Charlie… I’ve only ever felt this way — never about _anyone_ mind you. Except you… and I told you that. I thought that we finally—” cutting herself off, she makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “I’ve only ever wanted _you_.”

And that was the closest admission she had given yet, bordering on the edge. Sure, not under the most ideal circumstances, with the sprinkling of snow, mere metres away from gifting Charlie the one thing she could truly think of, with the pressures of everything else starting to pile up a little too much. Natasha struggles to hold her head up, to stare him in the eye. Every little part of her was shaking, threatening to give way. The words hadn’t quite sunk in for Charlie, judging by the way he seems to gradually progress through several expressions, only to finish on being red in the face, bug-eyed, and perhaps bordering on tearing up. 

It was getting a little hard to breathe, especially when Charlie just didn’t seem keen on responding in kind. Natasha’s turn to start getting watery, and it’s another kind of willpower to force her to put one foot in front of the other, to shove past him and keep moving. “Whatever, come on. I’m getting cold,” is all she mumbles, taking those few strides towards Ollivander’s. 

Charlie doesn’t follow quite so quickly, and Natasha honestly expected him to run instead. But under the shelter of the store, he finally makes his way over, now definitely stuck in a state of confusion when Natasha ushers him in. Bell ringing, she makes her way over to a stool, dropping her weight onto it, while Charlie stands awkwardly to the side.

Not long until Ollivander peers around the corner, all but lost in the sea of wands. Natasha stands, clears her throat. “Mr Ollivander, I sent you an owl not long ago about wands…”

“Ah, yes, Miss Rhodes. I remember quite well.” Shuffles over to the counter then, hands placed wide, as he takes the both of them in. “A strange question of yours, one that left me with many of my own in turn.”

With the look Charlie sends her, Natasha clears her throat. “It wasn’t regarding me, sir. Apologies for being vague. It was about my… _friend_ , and his wand.” The choice in word gets her a look, that she returns in kind, before turning back to Ollivander. 

“I would have thought so. Your wand took to you far too well to simply move on so fast, if I recall.” At that, Ollivander extends a hand, with Natasha taking a pause before realising what he needed. Fishing her wand from her pocket, she hands it over with some hesitation.

“Cherry and dragon heartstring,” she says aside, when Charlie watches as Ollivander turns it over in his hands. “Supposed to be a bit unmanageable, if you believe that sort of stuff.”

Despite holding the look with Charlie for a fraction longer than appropriate, she can hear Ollivander mumble. Something about the upkeep, and one particular notch on her handle. With a wave however, Ollivander says clearly, “ _Orchideus_ ,” and a bouquet springs forth, reds and pinks muted by a brilliant orange, carefully handed over with a satisfactory nod. “A strong wand, that one.”

Scooping up the flowers in one arm, Natasha can’t stop the smile and thanks. But that doesn’t stop her from looking out the corner of her eye. “Charlie, your wand.”

Clearly, he hadn’t expected to be addressed, with how he froze, voice jumping as he asks: “What about it?”

Natasha rolls her eyes, tilting her head in Ollivander’s direction. “Hand it over.”

He grumbles something, but fishes the wand from his pockets. Hesitation is clear, as he hands his wand over. Like he doesn’t quite want to let it go, but relinquishes it eventually. Charlie resorts to shoving his hands in his pockets, not meeting Natasha’s eye.

Ollivander is careful in how he assesses the ash wand. Rolls it over in his fingers with measure, watching how sparks seem to appear on the third twirl. His nails catch on that particular dent on the length, and there’s something of a reminiscent smile on his face when he finally speaks. “This was Fabian Prewett’s wand, was it not?”

“My uncle’s. Recovered after he…” Charlie trails off, a frown on his face, before taking a new direction. “Bill has Gideon’s. Or, ‘had’. He has a new wand now: Aspen and unicorn hair, I think.”

There’s a nod, as if Charlie had been correct in his assumption. Fingers find a barely noticeable crack in the wood, and Ollivander’s face fills with a gentle sort of reminiscing. “Fabian was not a careful boy, when he first picked up this wand. Besides breaking three lamps and a window, he dropped his wand more times on the way out than I could count.” He laughs, lightly, yet deeply. Natasha notes how Charlie seemed to hang on to each word, even if he hadn’t noticed himself.

Of course she had heard about the Prewett brothers, and their appearances right at the height of the war. It took so many death eaters to take them down, her mother had whispered, over a little amount of candlelight when she couldn’t sleep. Lyra had brushed her daughter’s hair from her eyes, and told her of the antics of their family, and what they had done to others. 

But Natasha hadn’t divulged that information, and she wasn’t willing to, not now. Still deeply harrowed by such a thing, it was eye opening to understand just how she was perceived.

“This wand, however, is not yours, Mr Weasley. I must admit, I have seen your other brothers in my store, but not you.” Ollivander lays Fabian Prewett’s wand on the counter, tenderly, before threading his fingers together. A heavy eye sets itself on Charlie, who seems to chafe under the attention.

“Ron’ll be getting my wand when he starts, so I’ll be back over the summer.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Charlie seemed to look everywhere but at Ollivander. 

Natasha noted the very real need on his face to escape, and rearranges the flowers in her arms, before turning to look at him. “Why not try something now?”

Charlie looks at her curiously then, as if a light went off in his head. Perhaps he’d finally connected all the dots, and looked rather displeased at such a realisation. Not that Natasha hadn’t expected it, as she nods her head in the direction of Ollivander. “Go on.”

“Natasha…” he warns, but Ollivander took the way Charlie turned back towards him as an admission, and begins fishing out several wands. “Fine. I’ll try some.”

“Can’t hurt,” Natasha murmurs, and takes her seat once more. Keeps an eye on how Charlie pushes up his sleeves, how his fingers flex, as if he wants to fall into the safety of a family wand, than the first one Ollivander extends his way.

“Maple, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches,” Ollivander repeats, as Charlie carefully holds it in his hand. Meets her eye, as if half expecting something to happen, and Natasha gives a little flourish with her wrist.

With a flick, Charlie finds himself knocking a few books over, and apologised quickly. Hands the wand back with a little more force than he should’ve, and goes to pick them up. But Ollivander hums, and finds another wand, stopping him from distracting himself. 

“A particular favourite of mine, now. Hornbeam, unicorn hair, eleven and three quarter inches.”

More of a curved handle this time, which seemed to have Charlie struggle to hold it. Had that not been an indication alone, it would’ve also been the way he shot a stool across the floor. “Sorry,” he says again, quickly, this time crossing the shop to right things again. “I’m just not used to this.”

“You are hardly the most destructive I’ve come across before, Mr Weasley.” Ollivander seemed to place exactly where Charlie’s anxieties lay, with how he had another wand ready and waiting. “Miss Rhodes, for instance, broke the front windows of my store.”

That comment has Charlie turn around, eyes wide. Natasha can only grin and shrug. “In my defence, you did say give it a ‘strong’ wave. Just not which direction to go.”

Ollivander seemed rather amused by her comment, and continues with pulling one more box out from under the counter. “Another one, shall we? Cypress, unicorn hair, twelve inches.”

If Charlie expected something strong to happen, the disappointment on his face quickly appeared. “Natasha, this is pointless.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she responds, quickly, when she notices how Charlie doesn’t even try to test the cypress wand, returning it to its box. “ _Everyone_ has a wand, you just have to find yours.”

“I have a perfectly good wand. Why can’t I use it?”

Raising a brow, Natasha did note how Ollivander seemed to quietly excuse himself down a hall of wand boxes. “Your brother is getting that wand, and it isn’t even _yours_. Never mind that the core is pretty much poking out the end.” With a scoff and an eye roll, Natasha returns to running her hands over petals, ignoring the muttered comment from Charlie about why she cared so much. 

Clearly realising their little talk had ended, Ollivander returned with one more box in hand, a little on the dustier side. “I believe that we are close, Mr Weasley, need not worry.”

“I’m not worried,” he says, stiffly, which has Natasha snort behind him.

“A chestnut wand, unicorn hair, twelve and a half inches. Flexible, too.” 

Natasha remembered that look, on Charlie’s face, because she knew it sat on her own when she picked up her wand. _Her_ wand, not another one to try before whittling down to find the right one. When everything seems to just click into place, and it’s comfortable in hand. She could clearly recall how she just felt warm and _right_ , when reaching into the box to take out her wand. And from the way Charlie seemed to roll it over in his hands, he felt the same way too. 

“Cast something, Charlie,” Natasha suggests, when she could see the hesitation start to creep up on his face once more.

His voice pitches as he replies, and she has to remember that he’d never experienced something like this before. “Like _what_?” Truly, Charlie stood staring in wonder at the wand in his hand, and there was almost fear on his face when he realised he should move. 

There’s no right spell, Natasha knows. Even just a simple wave would do. “Anything.” 

Ollivander reminds quiet, assessing the way Charlie seemed to be stressing over what exactly he needed to do. With some gentle reassurances, he does manage to get Charlie to try to levitate a nearby teacup, something simple and small, to test the waters. Safe for sure, had Charlie not been so unadjusted to a compatible wand, one that partnered with him, he nearly shoots the teacup through the ceiling with how quickly the wand responded. 

“Damn,” is all he has to say, staring at the wand in wonder. 

Not quite ready to set it down in the box, Natasha takes the sudden absence of Charlie completely as a reason to stand, patting down her pockets for the money. “Seven, isn’t it?”

Counting the money out in her hand, as Natasha sets it on the counter, Charlie finally comes to. “Wait, what? What are you doing?”

“Seeing if Mr Ollivander has more than three thousand peacock feathers I can buy,” she responds with likely more sarcasm than necessary, judging by the way that his face twists a little. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“I can certainly find those feathers for you, if you’d like, Miss Rhodes,” Ollivander comments easily, clearly humoured by the situation, filling the gap where Charlie can only gape at the back of her head. With a certain amount of reverence and respect, Ollivander lays Fabian’s wand carefully in the box, packaging it with ease that spoke of years of experience. 

With a snort, Natasha lays seven galleons exactly, down. “I don’t know what I would do with them, but I appreciate the offer.”

A series of noises emit from behind her, and she takes the box with her, tucked under one arm. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Mr Ollivander. I appreciate it.”

Waving off the thanks and platitudes, Ollivander smiles. “No need for thanks, dear girl. You know my doors are always open.”

As she turns, Natasha loops her arm with Charlie’s, and practically drags him backwards out the store. Over her shoulder, she calls out a final farewell. “I’ll probably see you in the next year or so. I have several cousins starting school soon.

“Bye, Mr Ollivander, thanks again!”

Only when the door shuts, bell no longer ringing, does she let Charlie go. He shuffles a bit, still not letting go of the new wand — as if he had no idea what to do with it, now. Natasha eyes him, as he passes it from hand to hand, and back again, biting his lower lip and not meeting her eye. A wonder he hadn’t just run from her completely at this point, with no means of looking back. She was getting dangerously close to just needing to smack the wand out of his hands, so that he would just _look_ at her.

“Charlie, seriously, stop that.”

Of course he doesn’t, but Natasha hadn’t expected him to magically stop and look at her. No, that would be lying — yes, she did expect Charlie to simply stop, maybe even thank her. Although that wish seemed to pushing the boundaries of reality, with how Charlie only stops fiddling when they began to approach Madam Malkins. A decent walk, to say the least, considering their pace. 

Thinking of her list in her pocket, Natasha had wanted to pick up some other things while they had the time, which meant Charlie finally decided to speak up. Just as she reached around with her free hand to find the list, he walks just a step closer, enough to have her hyper aware. More than she was already, noting the tension and uncertainty that made his expression tight, sad. 

“What?” Natasha asks carefully, forgetting about her list, focusing on him. “Did I do something wrong?”

Acutely aware of just how many different directions the conversation should go, she knew several routes boiled down to money. A touchy subject, abhorred any other time. A few more related to their current situation, and a handful might’ve been related to the general timing. But Charlie doesn’t seem to want to travel through the regular channels, not with how tightly he was holding his new wand. 

“Why?”

Simple, yet perfectly stunting, in the way he asks. Whatever responses Natasha had formed in seconds, none of them seemed quite right. Not with how his voice gave away more than the question itself. Charlie stood before her, confused and afraid, which hurt more than she ever considered it would.

Clearing her throat, Natasha finds herself staring at her shoes, unable to hold eye contact now. “Think of it like a late Christmas present. My intentional present, not the other one I gave you.” 

“I just don’t understand… _why_?” With how he stresses the word, Charlie finally meets her eye. “Why, Natasha, after everything so far? I don’t get it.” A small, quiet voice, full of uncertainty and nerves, as if he was stepping over every line and wall they’d put up in the last few months alone, hoping to find an answer.

“I wanted to.” 

He makes a noise, clearly out of frustration, and looks away for long enough Natasha thinks he was going to drop it. Until he turns back, a little more biting anger in his tone now. “That’s not an answer.”

“What do you want me to say, Charlie? I don’t know what you want from me!” That was the truth. Whilst they were both as bad as each other, pulling back just when they might’ve had a chance to forget and move on, something would bring them back. Be it a snog in the change rooms, a late night study session that turns to delicate silence, or just forcibly being in each other’s orbits due to the mutual aspects of life, Natasha knew she never quite got away.

Maybe Romania was the answer for him, after all, just like MACUSA was becoming for her. A way to step back and evaluate the bigger picture.

“I don’t know what you want from _me_! Nat, I just. You go out with all these people, and I see you do it. I know you were with that Wagtail guy again a few weeks ago, and you buy me a wand—”

“ _You_ bought me several books, a broom kit, and a shawl, don’t bring presents into this—”

“—That’s not the point! I’m,” Charlie pauses, inhales, if in an attempt to calm himself down, only a little. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Us. And everything that happened then. I know you don’t open up to a lot of people, and those few weeks where you told me everything just.

“You made me feel important, Natasha, I just don’t know what happened.”

Of all the responses she’d expected, that was so far down the list, it wasn’t even considered. Words fall into place like little puzzle pieces, bringing wholeness to a part of her life she’d stopped caring about (or tried to, with all her might). Natasha can feel herself threaten to burst into tears again, one part being overwhelmed, one part sheer relief. Covering her mouth, she knows she should say something — anything — because her moment was too long, and Charlie’s face carefully falls into look that spoke of self preservation. 

“If you don’t feel the same, you need to tell me. Now. So we can end this and move on.”

With a hiccup, and a bit of irresponsibility, Natasha drops the box in her arms, and throws herself at Charlie. Pulls him into a tight hug, that caught him off guard just as much as his words did for her. “I’m sorry,” she sobs out, somewhere between his collarbone and shoulder. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—I’m bad at this, and that’s not an excuse.” Natasha’s heaves as she tries to catch her breath, arms holding him still.

“I can’t imagine anything without you. I really can’t, and it’s so hard to pretend like nothing happened, or that I don’t care.” Charlie still doesn’t hug her back, fists still balled at his sides. She tried not to think of what that meant, that she’d missed her chance, and Natasha pulls back enough to see his face. “I’m sorry. So, _so_ sorry.”

Charlie lost the backbone he’d summoned to be angry and detached, all at the same time, it seemed. Just looked lost, lower lip wobbling a fraction more than it should. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I shouldn’t have… ”

“I’m sorry I threw Myron in your face like that. You didn’t deserve that.”

After a long pause, Charlie responds, voice surprisingly light and airy. “He’s _really_ hairy, you know that?” There’s a crack of a smile on his face. Forgiven. Just as she had forgiven him.

Returning the smile, albeit watery and through a fresh set of tears, Natasha does have to laugh out a: “You know he wears wigs, right? It’s not all natural.”

“Huh. No, didn’t know that.” 

It takes a moment, for Charlie to return the hug. To hold her just as tightly, if not more, arms around her shoulders and keeping her close. Natasha notes that he shakes, just a little, but makes no move to comment. Words are caught in her throat, a tangle of apologies, reasoning, excuses, none of which feel right to say or air out at that moment. Later, they could have a talk, one out of likely many that would need to come, but that didn’t matter at that moment. 

Charlie was warm and solid, whispered thanks against her ear, a hundred times over in every different way. She didn’t deserve it, not really, but that didn’t stop her heart from swelling, from her thanking him too. From just holding on.


End file.
